


Land of the Moon

by claudia603



Category: Lord of the Rings (2001 2002 2003)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Interspecies, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2010-04-17
Updated: 2010-04-17
Packaged: 2017-10-09 00:10:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,127
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/80900
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/claudia603/pseuds/claudia603
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Frodo returns to Minas Tirith two years after the quest.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Land of the Moon

**Author's Note:**

> thank you, sophinisba, for beta and brainstorming fun!

The Great Gate to Minas Tirith towered far higher than Frodo remembered. Everything about Minas Tirith awed him as if he were gazing upon it for the first time. He had forgotten how the pinnacle on the Tower of Ecthelion stretched grandly to touch the sky, glimmering in the sun. Even though Frodo was perched on a high horse sitting in front of the Rider of Rohan that bore him, the gate loomed before him, making him feel small.

The iron doors opened. Frodo's legs and backside ached from days of riding. He had made most of his journey from the Shire on foot until he had reached Edoras (with a message from Merry for the King Eomer). There, the people of Rohan had welcomed Frodo with great honor, had insisted that he stay a few days and share their table. And when he had expressed his plan to go forth to Minas Tirith, King Eomer had been firm about sending with him several ambassadors and guards. After all, it would be as good a time as any to let King Elessar know what was happening in Rohan. The road into Minas Tirith was not yet safe for a lone, traveling hobbit, no matter how brave. There were still stray Orcs and unscrupulous men, bitter from their losses in the War.

Now, as Frodo kept his gaze upon the Tower of Ecthelion, he felt his weariness of travel fall away. Hope caught fire in his heart.

Within the hour he would look upon Aragorn's face again. Although nearly two years had passed since they had bid one another farewell, Frodo recalled every detail of Aragorn -- his grey eyes that haunted Frodo's dreams in the Shire, his unyielding countenance that could turn to tenderness with one smile.

The guards stirred with excitement when they caught sight the Ringbearer, and they sent a swift message up to the King. They then bid the Riders of Rohan and Frodo to go on up to the Citadel. Crowds of people gathered on balconies and in the street to greet the Ringbearer and watch the Rohirrim in their bright green and gold garb. Frodo waved at the Gondorians with an open smile. By now Aragorn should have received the message that he had arrived. He wished he could see Aragorn's face, to see how he had taken the news that the Ringbearer was here in the White City.

Nearly two years earlier Frodo had returned to the Shire because he had needed to go home after everything that had happened. He had needed to see the Shire that he had helped to save. Of course, all had not been idyllic while he had been gone, and there was a mighty big mess to clean up. But even after the Troubles, his Shire had failed to soothe his wounds and heart. His dear friends and cousins were always kind to him and looked after him in every possible way. Still, his heart ached for more than friendly care. He needed something to stir his passion again. His thoughts become consumed with Aragorn. Aragorn had stirred his heart from the moment Frodo had looked upon him sitting in the dark, smoky corner in Bree.

Frodo's infatuation had grown as the quest continued, but as far as he knew, it had never been returned, save as friendship. That was all Aragorn offered, but Frodo had accepted it gladly, with open heart, cherishing it when all other lights went out.

Upon waking after the quest he understood that Aragorn loved him dearly but not in the manner that Frodo loved him, and the hopeful light in Frodo's heart faded just a little, although it never burned out completely. At that time, he thought that going home to the Shire would be the best balm for his heart.

Now the horses bore Frodo and the Rohirric ambassadors up sharp stone paths through gate after gate.

A few ladies of Minas Tirith threw flowers his way, and Frodo waved to them. It was fine to see Minas Tirith in full summer bloom. Even this long after the War, much destruction and rubble remained. It would take many years before the damage from the siege was fully repaired, and even longer to heal the pain and loss in the hearts people who had lost so much. But Frodo had no doubt that Aragorn would lead them into the light.

At last the Riders of Rohan gave up their horses before the seventh gate. Frodo was lifted to the ground. He swayed on his feet, smoothing down his clothing. They walked through the final gate. In the Courtyard, Aragorn walked toward them with swift, sure steps, a smile on his face. The White Tree bloomed with fragrant flowers. The Riders of Rohan bowed, and Frodo, despite having been told to do otherwise by the King in the past, bowed a little. His legs trembled.

Aragorn knelt before him, eyes only for him. He clasped Frodo's shoulders, his eyes bright with delight. "My friend. My dear, dear friend." His eyes glistened with tears. "This is a wondrous surprise, far beyond hope." His words sent warmth down Frodo's limbs and he knew for certain now that coming to Minas Tirith was exactly what he had needed to do. Aragorn kissed Frodo's brow and then embraced him with crushing force. Only after he released a breathless Frodo did he acknowledge the Riders of Rohan, the ambassadors from King Eomer. Frodo watched his face and noted the change, how eyes bright with open joy changed to a deep, dark grief.

Oh.

Fair sword maiden on her funeral pyre, warrior maiden felled in battle. She lay beside her uncle, the King Théoden who had also perished in battle. Tears flowed down King Elessar's cheeks as he clutched her white hand.

He still loves her. It hurts his heart to look upon the Rohirrim.

Aragorn's eyes hardened again as he turned to business. "Did you find the road to Minas Tirith clear? There have been reports of occasional bands of Orcs."

"It was clear," one of the Riders said. "We surely looked fierce enough not to be crossed. Any Orcs that yet live will remember until their dying breath the Ride of the Rohirrim over the Pelennor Fields." He smiled with fierce pride.

"That is well," Aragorn laughed grimly. "Have you messages from your king?"

The ambassador from Rohan bowed. "We would indeed like council with you by request of King Eomer. We must set off for home at daybreak tomorrow."

Aragorn nodded. "We shall meet immediately then, in the Great Hall. I shall arrange for food and drink."

Frodo shivered, suddenly exhausted.

I still love him. Even as a dear friend. That will never change. Being around him, getting to see him every day, is enough.

"Frodo?" Aragorn said, clasping his shoulder, warming him immediately. "You must be weary from your journey. I cannot express enough how happy I am to see an old friend again. Go forth to the Guest House." He smiled a little. "As soon as I heard that you were at the Gate, I sent servants ahead to prepare it. There should be fresh linens and a full pantry. But do not eat with too much relish yet, for I would have you join me for supper tonight in my quarters."

Frodo's heart stirred with joy. Even now it was difficult to turn his eyes away from Aragorn's face. His smile in the flesh far exceeded the years of dreams. "Certainly."

As Frodo walked through the grassy courtyard, passing the guards that surrounded the blossoming Tree, the sun warmed his cheeks. Flower petals fluttered to the ground like delicate snowflakes. Frodo sniffed in the fragrant scent and smiled. Hope. The heady days just after he and Sam had awakened in Ithilien came back to him. He remembered well the joy that coursed through him knowing that the War had ended, that for better or worse the Ring was gone, that most of his friends had survived, that Gandalf had not been lost after all, that Aragorn had survived and had arrived at his destiny. Hope flourished in his heart that with so much good in the world, he might yet find healing, that everything about the Ring had been a dreadful nightmare that would in short time fade and leave him mostly unscathed. Although his heart remained with Aragorn, would always be with him, he had left Minas Tirith with eager anticipation of seeing the Shire again, and he thought that he might go back to enjoying his quiet life in Bag End, just like before. But the Shire did not give him peace, his wounds troubled him, and Aragorn did not fade from his heart.

Frodo could not pinpoint the exact moment when he had known he loved Aragorn, but he suspected it had been from the first breath-taking moment in Bree when strong hands had thrown him up the stairs – roughly and yet with no intent to harm, and stern grey eyes had locked on him in fear and anger.

In the coming days, although burdened by a dark path, his heart soared at moments as the Ranger led the hobbits through little known paths, desperate to keep Frodo and the Ring safe from the Enemy. Frodo remembered little of the time during which he was wounded, but amidst the dark shadows and fell shrieks and icy pain, he had seen those same keen gray eyes gentle with concern, anchoring him, keeping him in the light.

In Rivendell just after he had agreed to take the Ring to Mordor, he had also had time to contemplate. The days had slipped through his fingers like delicate sand. His wound would later trouble him during his journey but rarely there in Rivendell.

Just after sunset, Frodo had wandered in one of the many garden courtyards in Rivendell. This one was centered by a gentle fountain. Frodo breathed in the fragrance of freshly bloomed flowers. He paused before a cluster of dahlias, sighing with contentment that such beauty still existed in an ever darkening world. He stroked the velvet petal between thumb and forefinger, using the hand that had been cold and numb not so long before.

"You were brave, my friend. I have nothing but admiration for you."

Frodo startled and released the petal, but he smiled at Aragorn. "I do not think I was brave. I only did what I must do." He swallowed the painful thought that perhaps it had been the furthest decision from bravery that he had ever made. After all, agreeing to take the Ring meant that he had gotten to keep it just a little longer.

Aragorn met his eyes and for a moment the depth of his stare made Frodo believe that he could read his mind. "That is no less brave. Much bravery throughout the ages has been out of necessity."

The moon bathed Aragorn's face with an ethereal light, and Frodo's breath was taken away by how wondrous he was to look upon. And how wondrous it was to sit with Aragorn all that night beneath the stars and speak of their hopes.

Frodo reached the Guest House in Minas Tirith. He shielded his eyes against the glaring sun as he approached it, remembering. It seemed empty and all too familiar, and his heart felt a pang of sadness.

The other time he had stayed here, everyone had been full of the joy and merriment in the heady days just after the War. The house had echoed with the laughter and jests of his cousins and the gruff but now good-natured arguments between Legolas and Gimli. And Gandalf would sit by the window, his eyes twinkling, and blow smoke rings. Frodo stood still, breathless, lost in the memory of that last morning the fellowship was together in the Guest House.

 

Sam checked his pack one more time. "Well, Mr. Frodo, I'm as packed as I'm ever going to be. 'Twill be a shame to leave this place, but it's high time we head for home." Wistfulness crossed his face, and Frodo's heart was glad because Sam had survived the quest and could now return home to his Rosie.

Pippin patted the leather pouch in which he stored his pipe-weed, as if to make certain it was secure. "We've had some good times here, but it's not home." He paused. "I will miss having all the Big People bowing to me. My father will think I've grown a big head indeed and won't believe a word of it."

"I will make sure your father knows how brave you were," Frodo said.

"Writing might do better than trying to say it with words," Sam said. "It's too grand a story."

"Frodo will write it all down," Pippin said. "We'll not let him out and about until it's finished."

"I shall try at least," Frodo said. He wandered to one of the wide windows that looked out over the road. He breathed in the muggy air that promised a hot and sticky day once the sun was high overhead. The Shire never experienced such heat. He touched a rose petal from one of the wild rose bushes just outside the window. "I promise to use kind and charming words to describe the White City."

"Aye," Gimli said, adjusting his ax in his belt. "It's not bad for a mountain city not inside the mountain. The ale's not bad either."

"Indeed. And not bad for a city without trees," Legolas said.

"It will be better after the city is better restored," Aragorn said with a smile that did not reach his eyes. "Both the ale and the trees. And I would beg all of my friends to come back. I would have you see Minas Tirith in its glory."

Merry had not yet spoken, and he seemed unusually sober and subdued. He met Aragorn's grieved gaze, and something like understanding passed between them, and at once Frodo, too, understood. Their first stop was Edoras where they would bury Théoden and Eowyn.

Frodo sat beside Merry. "Are you ready to go?"

Merry nodded. "I have seen too much sorrow and horror here," he said with a shudder, "which I do not wish to talk about. But also untold joy." Frodo noticed that his eyes glimmered with unshed tears. "Like when you and Sam returned alive beyond all hope; when I found out that Pippin would live after his horrible injury; when you woke and laughed; when Aragorn was crowned king. I'll never forget any of those joys. Now we go to bid farewell to two whose deaths hurt my heart. There are always farewells."

"Yes," Frodo said. "Always."

 

Merry's words could not be truer. The fellowship broke into pieces until it felt to Frodo like the ending of a vivid dream, broken into fragments and fading from memory forever. Gandalf and Bilbo had sailed across the Sea. Legolas and Gimli had set off together to explore the far corners of the world, inseparable for all time. Sam had married his Rosie, Merry and Pippin had each other – and a lovely cottage in Crickhollow.

Now if only…

Frodo snuggled under his blankets in the bed. The linens were soft and freshly laundered, and the feather mattress was soft and luxurious. It had been long since he had slept in a real bed. He had enjoyed a soft bed in Edoras, but not as nice as this. Although the sun glared through the window, Frodo soon fell into a deep sleep.

He dreamed that he walked under a full harvest moon that spread fairy light across the land. It was a broken land, but in it there existed hope and love. Frodo worked in a garden. People he did not know passed him – a handsome woman dressed as a man; a young, skinny man, all arms and legs; a tall Ranger of Ithilien; and a young coltish boy of nine or ten summers. Everyone who passed him waved and threw flowers at him. Frodo glowed with peace and happiness.

He snapped awake. The sun had mostly set, and Frodo was glad that he had awakened. Aragorn expected him at sundown. Frodo heated some water and bathed. How easy it was to do it in this modern city. He adored being able to have warm water right at his fingertips. He washed himself of travel grime and dressed in his finest linen shirt and blue brocaded vest. He stood in front of a full mirror, gazing at his reflection. He was still far too thin, his eyes still shrouded with shadows, and even a few spots of gray marred his curls. He pinched his cheeks and smiled. There was still enough of the "perky chap with the bright eye" left in him.

Frodo arrived at the King's House just after dark, and a guard, polite but aloof, led him to Aragorn's quarters. He left as Frodo knocked.

"Yes?" Aragorn asked. His voice sounded curt and rough.

"It's Frodo."

Aragorn's voice changed, warmed, and he said, "Come in."

Frodo pushed the door open. He had never actually seen Aragorn's quarters. It reminded Frodo very much of the room in which he had recovered from his wound in Rivendell -- many arches and delicate statues, walls painted in the colors of the sea and forest, Elvish and ethereal, shimmering now in the gentle moonlight.

Aragorn sat in his chair, his head resting in his hands. An empty wine goblet sat on the table beside him. He wore his maroon tunic, leggings, and no shoes upon his feet. His hair looked disheveled, and when he met Frodo's concerned gaze, he looked old, as if the meeting with the ambassadors from Edoras had aged him at least ten years.

"Aragorn!" Frodo ran to him and took his head in his hands. "Are you well?"

"I am all right," Aragorn said, but his voice sounded distant. "Do not fret."

Frodo released Aragorn and peered inside the jug of wine. There was barely any left. He snatched the goblet and the jug. How much had he drunk?

"Frodo?" Aragorn asked, passing his hand over his brow and suddenly becoming more alert. Frodo noticed how red his eyes were, as if he had been weeping. "How discourteous of me! I invited you to supper and I have not sent for any food."

"Have you eaten anything?" Frodo asked, feeling his brow, frowning with worry. It was hot, but not feverish.

Aragorn managed a weak smile. Frodo set the wine goblet and jug on the wooden tray. He stepped outside the quarters and beckoned for a servant, who came immediately. Frodo handed him the tray. "Please take this back and send cold meats, cheese, and fresh bread."

The servant bowed and set off at a rapid pace.

Frodo sat in the chair across from Aragorn. "There. I've sent for some food."

Aragorn leaned forward and took Frodo's hands in his. Frodo's heart thudded at his touch. "I'm glad you've come. So glad. Especially today."

"What troubles you?" Frodo asked. He was tempted to jump from his chair and curl into Aragorn's lap, but he dared not. It was enough that they touched, that they were alone.

"It was more difficult than I could have imagined to look upon the Rohirrim after…" Aragorn swallowed. "Not yet. I do not wish to speak of it." He squeezed Frodo's hands once before releasing them and leaning back in his chair again, now gripping the arms of the chair. Frodo regretted the loss of his touch. "Tell me about your journey. Your Shire. All is well there? How are Sam and Merry and Pippin?"

Frodo smiled. "I've left the Shire in good hands. Samwise Gamgee makes a fine mayor. This year has been one of the best in the Shire – many healthy babies born, flowers, and Sam made the best possible use of the Lady Galadriel's gift. The Shire was…well, it was not in such peaceful hands when we first arrived." Frodo still shuddered to think about it.

"I had not heard," Aragorn said, but he sighed. "But it does not surprise me. The Rangers of the North who labored so hard to guard your borders were forced to join in the final battle against the Enemy."

"Saruman and his men took full advantage. He took my cousin Lotho prisoner under guise of making him Chief, which was not too difficult, as he was never fully of a pure heart. And then he used men to keep hobbits who rebelled in line. Awful, bullying, stupid men like Bill Ferny. Hobbits were beaten and locked up if they tried to speak up for their rights. Aragorn, we've never had a need for jails in the Shire. It's never been necessary, but these men used the very lockholes that were normally used to store grain during the winter."

Aragorn's eyes hardened. "It burns my heart to think of anything wicked passing into the Shire. It is well that you and your friends came home when you did."

"Pippin and Merry and Sam – they were brave, worthy of great praise."

"I am quite certain that you, too, were brave. You and your kin are made of stern stuff."

"I …" Frodo smiled a little. "I must admit that I thought about you."

Aragorn raised his brows and chuckled. "Me? Now isn't that a change from when you considered me naught but a rascal at the inn in Bree."

"I have never considered you a rascal," Frodo said, his cheeks heating. "Perhaps rather frightening and annoying, but not in the way that the Enemy would be."

"Ah, and I have faced many dark things in my journeys, but never before Bree had I been surrounded by four scowling hobbits."

They laughed.

Frodo's smile faded and he continued. "I thought about you often, Aragorn, when we returned to the Shire. I tried to imagine what you might do if you were with us. And I knew that you would understand that many of the men and the hobbits that had turned wicked had fallen under Saruman's influence and they deserved mercy. Enough people had died at the hands of the Enemy. We did not need more bloodshed. Fighting after the fall of Mordor…well, it lessened and cheapened the quest and your kingship and all we had fought for. And somehow I knew that you would do all you could to prevent more deaths."

Aragorn's voice was soft, admiring. "What did you do?"

"I stood in the middle of the battle and tried to prevent as many deaths as possible. No hobbit had ever killed another and I was not going to have it start there." Frodo clenched his hands together.

"You put yourself in harm's way. I am moved by your bravery. And more than that, I am grateful that you did not get hurt. Or worse. What a tragedy it would have been for you to perish in battle in front of your own home after all you'd been through."

Frodo laughed grimly. "Saruman tried. If not for the mithril shirt, I would have perished on my own stoop by his knife."

Aragorn closed his eyes briefly and released a quick breath. "It is well that it ended as it did."

"But despite my best efforts, hobbits died in that battle. They are greatly missed. But Merry and Pippin are held in high honor for their valor."

"Merry and Pippin…and of course Sam must miss you very much."

"They'll be all right." Frodo smiled.

"I've missed you, Frodo. I've no close friends with which to share my thoughts."

"Nobody?"

"Nobody with whom I do not have to speak as a king and leader. I yearn for friendship. It is something I have sorely missed since the fellowship left Minas Tirith."

The idea of Aragorn being lonely hurt Frodo's heart. "This won't do at all. Then I am very glad I came."

"Faramir comes from Emyn Arnen for council, and he is a very dear friend. He speaks fondly of you, too, and asks about you often."

"How is Faramir?" Frodo asked, pleased. "I regret that I did not have more time to speak to him while we were both here. He has one of the noblest and most gentle hearts that I have known."

Aragorn smiled. "He is doing well. Ithilien has begun to bloom at last."

The food arrived soon after, and Frodo's stomach gave a mighty growl as he breathed in the fragrance of the fresh bread. He had not eaten since his arrival. Although there had been food stocked in the Guest House, he had been too exhausted to feel hunger pangs. But now spread before them on the table was bread hot from the oven, vegetable soup in thick broth, cold meats, vegetables, and a steaming berry pie.

"This looks delightful," Frodo said. "I've been too long on the road with bare provisions."

After the servants left them to their privacy, Frodo and Aragorn went to work on the food. At least Frodo did. Aragorn nibbled on a buttered piece of bread with little interest. After a time, Frodo paused, setting down his spoon and looking hard at his friend.

"Come, Aragorn, you must eat. You can unburden your heart to me. What troubles you? I can guess that seeing the Rohirrim today…" He paused, and his throat filled. So happy had he been just to be in the same room with Aragorn, talking to him, hearing his low voice, feeling his touch, that he had momentarily forgotten about Eowyn's ghost.

Aragorn nodded. "You are perceptive, my friend. The ambassadors from Rohan…I did not expect my heart to pain so when I looked upon them. The colors of their fabrics, the iron strength in their eyes, the gold of their hair, and the lilt of their voices all bring to mind the Lady Eowyn…"

"The Lady Eowyn," Frodo murmured. "Merry has told me all about her brave deeds in battle."

Aragorn nodded. "You have something in common with her. Both of you faced the Witch King with bravery. And Merry, too. If not for Merry, we would not have anything left of her to bury."

"She was very brave and lovely," Frodo said. "She should never have perished so young."

"We would have wed. I do not know if ever I told you that, Frodo."

Frodo nodded, his throat closed. He bowed his head. If that had happened, then Frodo would never have come back to Minas Tirith. "Someone so beautiful and tragic and brave. It is no wonder that you love her."

"I am haunted by whether I could have saved her if I had been there. I do not know. But I was too late. There were many affected by the Black Breath, not the least of whom were Merry and Faramir. Both of them were close to death as well, but Eowyn…she had taken a grievous wound to the heart. So strong…so beautiful."

"I am sorry," Frodo said. "You did all you could."

Aragorn's eyes glistened, and Frodo saw the depth of the pain in his heart reflected there. "It was not enough. If only you could have met her, Frodo. All who looked upon her loved her." He paused a moment, and then his voice cracked. "I will no marry no other."

"But I think you will someday," Frodo said, his lips numbing. Aragorn's words were so final, a darkening and closing of the heart, like a new moon. "Gondor will someday need an heir. And I would not have you be alone."

"Perhaps you are right," Aragorn mumbled. "Thank you, dear friend, for listening. You have eased a burden from my heart."

Frodo nodded. "Always. But now it is high time that I made my way back." He stood. "Thank you so much for dinner, but I am weary beyond reason now."

"I shall accompany you."

"No, that is not necessary," Frodo said. He feared he would weep if he spent much more time in Aragorn's presence. For the time, Aragorn's heart was locked to him. "I should like to enjoy the night air on my own. You should get a good night's sleep, dear Aragorn. I should like to see you tomorrow."

Aragorn stood and clasped both of Frodo's shoulders, smiling down at him with fondness. "And I am sorry that I did not give you a more amiable welcome your first night. But there will be many more nights. How long do you think you will stay?"

Frodo tried not to tremble under Aragorn's touch, tried not to think about how the night could have ended, with Frodo spending the night in Aragorn's bed. "I will stay as long as you will have me. And I would have you always feel comfortable speaking honestly with me. I am your friend and hope to be so for a very long time."

"Thank you," Aragorn said. He stooped and kissed Frodo's brow with tenderness.

 

Frodo walked back to the Guest House, his heart heavy. He had come to Minas Tirith with hope in his heart. Of course he had known about Aragorn's grief for Eowyn. Time healed most wounds, and anything could change. Several guards nodded at Frodo as he walked by. Frodo wondered about how their lives had unfolded. So many of their friends and family had died in battle. How queer it must be for them to have loved and lost and fought and now to guard Minas Tirith in a time of sun and peace, without the threat of Mordor's shadow. Most of these men had known war and strife all their lives.

The Guest House seemed cold and quiet and far too dark. While he dined with Aragorn, the servants had fluffed the bed, set a fire in the hearth, and provided everything he might need for a long stay. Frodo stumbled up the stairs, yawning. During his journey to Minas Tirith, he had become reacquainted with hard roots that dug into his neck, insects that bit, and a chill that could not be kept out by blankets alone.

Frodo crawled into bed. He had made the right choice in coming to Minas Tirith, had he not? In the Shire, Frodo had languished despite the tender care from his friends. Life ebbed from him, and more days than not carried the burden of dark memories and pain. Yes, he had done wise to come here, even if it broke his heart. Even if he could share a meal with him just once a day. He would stay, offer Aragorn comfort. Just to be close to his heart was enough.


End file.
